


he succumbs without complaint

by Hawkbringer



Series: Helmig and Fridann [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Ambiguous Age, Boys In Love, Eskimo Kisses, First Kiss, First Time, Fridann is not a virign, Fridann the Negotiator, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Helmig is not so good with words, M/M, Nausea (brief mention), Politics, Porn with Feelings, Revolution, Serfs & Lords, Sex Is Fun, Sexy Wrestling, Sharing a Bed, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, falling asleep together, i use this trope so damn much i may as well make a tag for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/Hawkbringer
Summary: Leaving a noble's dinner party on the eve of the rag-tag band's conquest of the city, Helmig the Hero merely wants to be alone with his anxieties. His shieldmate Fridann gives him an hour to cool off, then seeks him out to warm him up all over again. (Porn-with-feelings scene cut from the longer work "Helmig The Hero.")





	he succumbs without complaint

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the promised sexy times! Set at the very end of Chapter 10 of "Helmig the Hero." Probably works as a stand-alone PWP, though. Underage tag because ages are not specified, but both are older teens, legal in their universe to join the military, so why can't they be legal for fucking too. ;) I color-code them in my head; Fridann is silver and Helmig is green. Not sure why they got the Loki/Slytherin colors, but they did.
> 
> Written in late September of 2014 and minimally edited.

(When we last saw our heroes in Chapter 10...)

As the lords gather, filling the halls of Mial’s castle, Helmig excuses himself from Mial’s lavish dinner and retreats to his and Fridann’s tent. Fridann sees him leave, though, sees the paleness of his face, and lets him go – for about an hour. Once he is certain his absence will not be missed, Fridann stands and slips away as well.

~*~

“I have to leave, Fridann, I cannot stand these excitable lords. Their idle chatter is turning my stomach. I’m going to rest.” Pinched-face, Helmig glances round the table and slowly stands when he sees no eyes upon him.

“In the tent outside?” Fridann asks low in his throat. Helmig nods, and slips away. 

Fridann considers his absence, and the probability that Helmig really does need time alone. He decides to leave him be for an hour, give him time to nap and his stomach to settle. After an hour, he stands as well, making Mial frown.

“Is our friend Helmig well?” he asks nervously. Fridann knows he is simply worried about mounting a full-scale assault on the Capitol with a sub-optimal champion at its fore, yet he smiles reassuringly. 

“I am going to check on him now. He is not used to such lavish meals and may have over-indulged. I am certain his stomach will have settled in a few hours.” Satisfied, the lord waves him off.

Fridann leaves the hall through the servant’s entrance, enquiring as he goes if the staff has seen Helmig. He follows their vaguely-waved hands’ directions to the tent they set up on the first day. Inside, a Helmig-shaped lump is clearly visible beneath their many blankets when Fridann silently pulls back the flap.

Fridann sheds his outer layers for further insulation, stuffing them on either side of the tent along the ground-seam. Then he slowly inches forward on his hands and knees, trying very hard not to disturb Helmig’s rest. 

When he is lying full-length by Helmig’s side, where Helmig always leaves a space for him, Fridann squirms under Helmig’s blankets as close as he can get, astounded that the other hasn’t woken yet. 

Helmig is facing away from him and Fridann wants to check the pallor of his face, so he leverages himself up on his elbows and slowly, carefully, places one arm around Helmig, without touching him, to the ground on his other side, then slowly, slowly, one leg over his thighs, and cranes his neck to the side as he hovers above his friend. As his turned-away face comes slowly into view, Fridann can’t hold back a sigh. Helmig’s cheeks are strained, barely holding back a grin. 

No point in sneaking now, Fridann figures, and drops down on top of Helmig’s side, making an exaggerated _whumpf_ noise, blowing the hair away from Helmig’s face momentarily. 

Helmig’s eyes are still stubbornly closed, but the grin breaks his lips apart and Fridann wants to greet his teeth, to welcome that smile, which he hasn’t seen in days. 

Following the impulse, he lets his head sink down on his neck and presses his nose against his friend’s. Helmig rolls his head beneath him, making their noses brush past each other. Fridann copies the motion and as they brush, he chuckles. 

Helmig’s eyes are still closed, and his smile widens, and he chuckles too. The two of them dissolve into giggles and Fridann’s body shakes with laughter, in danger of rolling off his companion. 

Helmig feels it when his center of weight shifts, and his arm reaches up to steady him. However, this unbalances Helmig, and Fridann gives up and rolls to the ground in front of Helmig, half-crushing his proffered arm. 

“Acckk,” Helmig gripes, his eyes flying open, trying to flex his trapped arm. Fridann just grins at him insufferably, and Helmig retaliates by pulling his other arm out from under the blanket and tugging at Fridann to get him to move. 

“Roll back over!” he orders him, pulling him close and shifting onto his back, Fridann sprawling over him. He is warmer than the blankets and Helmig smiles as his arms tighten around him. “There, you see? Better.” Fridann ignores that.

“How is your stomach?” Helmig’s brow furrows in confusion, and Fridann wants to greet the lines on his forehead, too, as they appear. 

“The lords thought you over-ate.” Helmig’s face portrays suspicion. 

“Yes, okay, _I_ told them that.” Helmig rolls his eyes. 

“Well, I wasn’t about to say you were sick of their chattering.” 

Helmig somehow shrugs with just his face and admits, “I guess that is a more… _political_ alternative.” His lips twist on the word political, and they both know this is Fridann’s realm of comfort, not his. 

“I’m glad you see it my way,” Fridann preens, just slightly. 

“I _am_ glad you came back for me,” Helmig replies seriously, sliding his hands down Fridann’s back. Fridann smiles with half his mouth. 

“I know so many people can be overwhelming, but… I thought you would…appreciate my presence.” He has to fish for the words, because he knows that Helmig wants him. He’s just not completely sure what that entails.

Helmig’s face is soft. “I always do,” he says, running his hands up and down Fridann’s back, under the shirt fabric when he finds the hem, and his hands are warm and strong, so Fridann shivers. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“May I touch you?” Fridann asks very quietly.

“Hmm, that’s only fair,” Helmig hums, gazing at him, face inscrutable. 

Fridann is itching to test this, so he drags his right hand down Helmig’s arm, behind his shoulder to his ear. He cups his hand there, sliding fingers through the hair at Helmig’s temples. His thumb traces his ear. Helmig only smiles. 

Fridann does the same with his left hand, cupping Helmig’s head now, and is sure he is about to be told off for insubordination or conduct unbecoming of a soldier or _something_ , but Helmig has simply closed his eyes and his hands are high on his back, against Fridann’s shoulder blades, palming them, drawing him closer. 

His legs are restless and they spread, crooking slightly against the sides of Fridann’s thighs, pulling him down and _closer_ , and Fridann isn’t sure how much closer he can _get_ , so he does the political thing, and simply asks.

“What do you…” He has to pause to breathe out and the shaky exhale thrills Helmig to his core. “How should I touch you?” he asks instead.

Helmig grunts quietly, knees shifting against Fridann’s thighs. “Kiss me?” he breathes, eyes opening, searching Fridann’s. “Please?” Fridann rocks against him as he lowers his head and presses his lips to Helmig’s smile, greeting his teeth like he’d wanted to in the first place.

“Like this?” he whispers, eyes not leaving Helmig’s.

“No, like this,” Helmig replies, and snakes one hand out from under Fridann’s shirt, pulls his head down very gently, and proceeds to massage Fridann’s lips with his, licks his tongue into his mouth. 

When Fridann pulls up for air, the thinnest string of wet connects them, and he catches Helmig’s upper lip between his own, to break it. 

Helmig is panting, his eyes shining, his face brighter than Fridann has ever seen. 

“That…oh…yes…I…yes.” He is undeniably enthusiastic, and it’s such a simple thing, Fridann thinks. It makes him so happy, and Fridann enjoys the feel of his tongue, as well. 

He licks his lips. “Then you approve?” he teases, taking one hand off Helmig’s cheek and tangling the fingers with Helmig’s hand on his neck. It slips down to his chest, then presses against Fridann’s heart. 

“Need you ask?” he needles back, the hand on his back slipping into the hollow of his back and pressing him closer for a moment.

“Then may I have another?”

“Absolutely,” Helmig murmurs, pressing a short kiss to his lips and pulling back to smile at his companion with soft eyes. Fridann opens his mouth to protest the inadequate length, and Helmig lunges forward in that moment, prising open his lips and sweeping his tongue into his open mouth. Fridann exclaims mutely against the sudden onslaught and Helmig purrs at the sensation. Fridann replies with an indignant tone and Helmig moans salaciously as Fridann’s lips close around his tongue and _suck_. Fridann moans in reply and their noises escalate as they try to outdo each other until Helmig shouts a curse as Fridann’s tongue paints wet circles in his ear. Fridann pulls back and regards him seriously. “Is that what you want?”

Helmig blinks repeatedly to give his too-slow brain time to catch up. He doesn’t have to think very long. 

“Yes,” he says seriously. “I want to touch you, I want you to touch me. Is that…” He searches Fridann’s eyes. “Is that acceptable to you?” 

Fridann tilts his head. “Will we be naked?” 

“Yes,” Helmig decides on the spot. No sense in being modest if you’re about to touch your best friend’s cock.

“Then yes,” Fridann replies, pushing up on his elbows and letting Helmig work at the buttons of his shirt. 

“Let’s lie sideways,” Helmig offers, helping him remove his last shirt, “You’re heavy.”

“And you’re lumpy,” Fridann returns, squeezing his bony shoulder with one hand and simultaneously rocking his hips against the bulge of his organ. Helmig laughs and starts to work at his own shirt, sitting up slightly to manage it. Fridann pushes his hands out of the way and does it himself, leaving Helmig free to impatiently shove at Fridann’s pants. 

Together they manage to shed their pants and underthings, rolling over and over each other until Helmig stops himself, pulling Fridann to his side. Smiling into each other’s faces, they reach for one another’s cock, simultaneously shuddering when they manage it. 

Overcome, Fridann rolls half onto Helmig, squashing his cock against his leg and his mouth against Helmig’s own. 

Heart pounding, he returns the assault, grasping Fridann’s cock tightly and tugging at it. Fridann breaks the kiss to throw back his head and groan. 

“Feels…feels,” Helmig breathes, focused only on Fridann’s body, on how he shakes and needs and wants.

“Feels _amazing,_ ” Fridann breathes, completely sincere, which breaks Helmig’s heart just a little, to think no one has ever done this for him, to think he has never done this for himself. He twists his hand as he pulls it back and forth swiftly and the wet catching of Fridann’s breath makes his own cock twitch in his companion’s hand. 

The silver one buries his face in Helmig’s neck, since he’s already half-atop him, and kneels up a bit to give Helmig more room. Helmig’s blood strains angrily against the bounds of his flesh as he recognizes the posture Fridann has assumed. 

All thoughts of fulfilling the promise of Fridann’s lifted hips flee as Fridann decides to open his mouth against Helmig’s neck, saliva immediately pooling wet against his collarbone, and to lower his hips enough to feel his own hand against the back of Helmig’s. 

“Closer,” Helmig murmurs, half-opening his hand and trying to encircle his own cock as well. Fridann obeys, hips snapping as he ruts into Helmig’s grip, which slips infuriatingly often. 

Taking matters into his own hands, literally, Fridann opens his own fist and rubs it up and down in time with Helmig’s against his own cock, and their hands combined finally fulfill Helmig’s wish. He writhes against the bedding and groans, satiated temporarily by their achievement of sufficient friction. 

Fridann’s open palm only strokes him a few more times, though, before he is, again, aching for more. He has no idea what he wants, what _more_ could possibly be, so he does the political thing. He asks Frida.

“Fridaaaa…” he groans into his companion’s ear. “I want… _more._ Harder, faster, _some_ thing, more! Do you… can you…?” His breath has left him and he’s panting now. Sweat is starting to break out all over his face and Fridann lifts his head only to rub his nose to Helmig’s hairline and breathe deep of the thick scent there, the scent of his mate. The possessive, and how easily it springs into his thoughts, urges him on, forward, faster, and he readjusts his grip on Helmig’s cock, thrusting cock against cock in their combined grip, pressing down harder with his full body weight, sliding his whole self repeatedly against Helmig’s, and _faster._

The sudden crushing weight and faster tempo surprise Helmig into coming. With a half-startled, half-relieved moan, Helmig unconsciously wraps one leg around Fridann’s, keeping him close as he shudders, drenching their hands with white. 

Fridann doesn’t go _anywhere_. This new copious slick provides a totally different sensation than he’s used to, the hot groping he’s done in back alleys usually dry and aching afterwards, too rough. He’s never pressed his skin against a partner like this, never felt their sweat, their saliva, or their come. 

Helmig is weakening, slumping back against the blankets, bunched muscles smoothing out. He must see a touch of worry or fear in Fridann’s face then because he huffs out, “I’m good, I’m good, just, hah, hah, do what you, hahhh, what you want. Wutchuneed,” he adds garbledly. 

Fridann processes the meaning of ‘what you want’ and ‘need,’ and the unperturbed tone in which they were spoken. He comes to the conclusion that Helmig has given him permission. So he immediately releases his cock, cramped as it is between their bodies, and fills his slick hands with Helmig’s shoulders and back, dirtying the blankets most excessively. 

Groping for a good hold, Fridann settles his hands on Helmig’s ass, falling forward to balance his head against Helmig’s chest. Curled over him like an animal, Fridann ruts against sweaty, warm skin, lost in the sensation of his whole body being touched. Helmig even manages to bring his hands up to Fridann’s back, he notices with another shock-twitch of pleasure. Still incapacitated, they drift lazily down Fridann’s back, then grip with a single-minded fury at Fridann’s ass. Tension returns to the chest Fridann’s face is buried in, the strong arms now pressed against his sides lashed tight with it, and when they pull him closer, Fridann erupts. He _feels_ like he erupts, like the blast of a rock against a poorly-made wall. He sprays his own debris, too, but it is not dust. 

His matching white slick has streaked Helmig’s chest, he sees, when he pulls back a bit. Helmig doesn’t seem to mind, groping only for Fridann to again cover his body, warm him against the cold, but Fridann minds. As his thoughts return to him (what did they do while they were away?, he wonders), he fishes out a small garment, a sock or underclothes, he is not sure, and wipes the mess off both of them, forgetting to start with their mouths. 

When he unthinkingly moves to press the come-stained sock to Helmig’s shiny-wet throat, Helmig laughs at him and pushes his hand away. Fridann supposes he is right, and tosses the dirty sock somewhere behind him. He wipes up the slick on his friend’s neck by kissing it away. That is a good compromise, he thinks. 

Helmig is so very close to sleep once Fridann decides his mate’s neck is properly clean, falls asleep sometime during Fridann’s insistent cleaning, and since Fridann can hold him close and warm the whole night through, his skin so novel a sensation that, come morning, Fridann cannot help himself but to wake Helmig in an overly familiar manner, to which the green one does not object at all.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make a poem out of the chapter titles in Helmig The Hero, while covering the plot that each chapter contains. This piece was originally meant to be a chapter, but I wasn't going to raise the rating for one scene, so this title fits in there as well. It's a crap poem, but I gave it a good try! Here is the whole thing, as a bonus to my readers who finished both works:
> 
> the urchin grew up on the streets  
> and when he is swept away  
> his destiny will find him  
> and if he protects it  
> Against the storms and stonings  
> Through the guilded halls of privilege  
> It will return boons to him tenfold.  
> And on the road to glory  
> Spurred on by allies' plots  
> Waiting to be lifted by the tides of fate  
> He succumbs without complaint  
> Before the dam breaks  
> And the fortress walls crumble
> 
> See? Doesn't follow a meter, nor a rhyme scheme, nor even a coherent capitalization or punctuation scheme! It's just a mess. I really shouldn't write poetry, but I decided to try and be artsy. I _would_ promise never again buuuuut... I'll probably try it again.


End file.
